In Your Head
by creativetherapy
Summary: An impossible ongoing case has gotten to Reid, but it's not the only thing messing with his head. A little bit dark, a little bit sexy. More emphasis on Reid's personal arc than the crime. R/R always appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

The buttery, sweet smell of fresh pastries filled the room, floating through the air like a secret between the night bakers and the few souls awake at such an early hour. If he didn't like to sleep so much, Spencer might have found a great deal of satisfaction in the still quiet of teh street and the glimmer of the last few raindrops on the aged red awning. Instead, he ruefully stifled a yarn as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. His vision blurred as he struggled to keep his eyes open. The cashier emerged from the kitchen, carrying a samovar of fresh coffee.

"Made it strong." He assure the agent, who nodded blearily and mumbled his thanks.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice, soft but assertive, caught Spencer's attention. He turned to see a woman standing near his left elbow. Her green eyes smiled at him admiringly from behind black square-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses. Spencer blinked, unsure if he was seeing things or if the mope of hair sweeping over her forehead _was_ actually cotton candy pink.

"Are you Doctor Spencer Reid?" The woman asked.

"I - uh - " Spencer replied, uncomfortable with the idea of being recognized by a complete stranger. "I am, yeah."

"I thought I recognized you." The woman smiled broadly. "You guest lectured for one of my classes when I was in grad school."

"Oh!" Spencer nodded, understanding. "Which class?"

"Criminal Deviance and the American Justice System." She replied, shaking her head. "You wouldn't remember. It was... gosh... eight years ago? Nine, now?"

"But you remember me?" Spencer arched an eyebrow, impressed. He had never been under the impression his lectures were terribly memorable.

"Remember the lecture and remember your face." She confessed. "I had help with the name." The woman gestured with the book in her hand, a still-glossy hard cover with a rather boring cover.

"Is that-" Spencer began.

"The Advancement of Criminal Psychology in the Twenty-First Century." She finished, flipping a few pages in and holding the book up for him to see. "I believe you wrote the forward."

Spencer blushed as he took the book, looking at the miniature bio of himself which accompanied the forward, complete with black and white miniature portrait of his early days at the Bureau.

"Wow..." He laughed self-consciously "that is... that is a really terrible photo."

The woman laughed, and he couldn't help but smile.

"So, you work in criminology?" He asked politely, handing the book back.

She rocked her head back and forth non-commitally "No. Life took me in... a bit of an alternate direction." She shrugged. "But your lecture was still one of the best."

"Thanks." Spencer said, taking a drag from his coffee cup.

The woman motioned suddenly to the cup in his hand. "Have you paid? Can I get that for you?"

"Oh, no." Spencer shook his head in protest. "No, I got it. But thanks. Actually, I've got to get going."

"Yeah, of course." The woman nodded, stepping aside absentmindedly as though she had been standing in his way.

"It was nice to meet you." He said, adding as an afterthought, "Hey, where'd you get that? I haven't gotten a copy yet."

"Oh, uh," She glanced at the book. "Cloak and Dagger. Down off of 7th Street."

"Thanks." He nodded, backing out of the doorway and into the still sleeping streets.

The doctor was only marginally more awake by the time he reached the crime scene. The body of a man, starved thin and prematurely aged, lay curled next to a dumpster in an out of the way alley.

"Another one." Agent Hotchner informed him.

"Male, this time." Reid replied pensively, adding it to the mental list he kept of the victims in the ongoing case.

"No I.D." J.J. said disappointedly. "Same as all the others."

"He'll likely turn up a John Doe, too." Hotch nodded.

It had been one of the longest ongoing cases the team had worked, spanning years and crossing state lines. The victims shared nothing but their anonymity and the fact they had been starved and likely held for some time.

Reid frowned. Without a name, it was difficult to discern motive, impossible to narrow down suspects, and unlikely the case would ever be solved. Being a man of order, what he found most frustrating was the paradox of a string of patternless victims that had somehow been meticulously chosen for the fact they were functionally untraceable.

"C.S.I. will get what they can from the scene." Hotchner looked around at the narrow alley. "We can canvas some local businesses... might not be a wasted trip."

Reid nodded, trying to keep his hopes up that Hotchner would be right, though inside he felt heavy. He turned from the alley, his mood as grey as the low clouds rolling in, obscuring the sun. The air felt close around him; hot and stifling. It made the skin under his collar itch.

"Looks like we're in for another hot one." Rossi remarked as he joined the young doctor in canvassing the north side of the street. "You know you're in trouble when the heat index is up before the sun."

"Mm." Reid absently acknowledged. "You know... we get more bodies around these temperature extremes." A thought formed slowly and incompletely. "We know they've been starved. "He continued, more to himself than Rossi. "maybe the deaths are more incidental than intentional."

"So it's not the murder he gets off on." Rossi tossed the idea around in his head.

"Or he keeps them alive because he uses them for something..." Reid said. "Needs them..."

"It's as good as anything else we've got right now." Dave Rossi agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Reid rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. He had fought all day to stay awake, yet now back in the comfort of his apartment, sleep wouldn't come. Instead, he found himself staring at the files spread out on his coffee table.

At length he stood, stretching as he reached for his satchel. If you can't sleep, work. If you can't work, walk. He headed for the door.

Reid wasn't fully aware of teh direction in which he was walking. The long nights, early morning, and bouts of insomnia guided his feet til he stood in front of a small, run down bookstore. The windows boasted true-crime novels and criminology text books. The shop was clichely named Cloak and Dagger, and the memory of the morning's conversation clicked in his mind. Spencer stifled a smirk but nevertheless pushed the door open. The store greeted him with a jingle of bells and the welcoming scent of books.

Shelves reached nearly to the ceiling, filled completely with endless volumes. Where books wouldn't fit on the shelves, they lay in neat stacks on the wood floor. Wheeled ladders on runners jutted out into the narrow aisles.

In front of him to his left, near the ancient cash register, one of the ladders was occupied. Spencer immediately recognized the woman from the coffee shop standing near the top, balancing a dangerously large box of books on one rung as she restocked the top shelf.

"Dr. Reid!" She smiled pleasantly down at him. "I wondered if I'd see you again."

Spencer gaped awkwardly before simply nodding.

"You're after that book, I'd guess?" She asked.

She shifted the box, wobbling precariously on the ladder and giving Spencer a jolt.

"Here, let me help." He offered, taking a quick step to the ladder and reaching up to steady the box, lowing it so as to allow here to climb down unencumbered.

"Thanks." The clear relief in her voice let him know it was not the first time she had attempted the stunt. He looked at her again as she climbed down the ladder. She was dressed comfortable for the heat in high rise denim shorts and a crop top which flattered her hourglass figure. Spencer tried not to notice her shapely legs as they passed him on her way down. She reached the ground and reached out, taking the box from him and hauling it to the front counter, setting it down heavily. The warm lights of the shop cast a soft halo around her hair. Not cotton candy, he decided. More like rose quartz. The truth was, she was actually quite pretty. He shook the thought aside as he followed her into the labyrinth of shelves.

"So, uh... life took you in a different direction, huh?" He tried to make small talk, remembering what little he had gleaned from their conversation earlier.

"I started working here toward the end of grad school." She chuckled. "Turns out I have a knack for it."

Stopping midway down one of the cramped aisles, she reached for a book, shoved back on a shelf just above her head.

"Here you go." She handed him the copy.

"Thanks -" Spencer paused, suddenly confused. "I've forgotten your name."

The woman smirked, silently amused.

"Don't worry about it." She brushed past him, grazing against his arm lightly as she headed toward the front of the store.

"So are you working the John Doe case?" She asked casually as she walked.

"I really can't discuss it." He evaded.

"Figured as much." She said. "Makes a fascinating study."

"It's people's lives." Spencer's tone was unusually abrupt. Nobody enjoyed talking about the Doe case. The abundance of media coverage combined with the dead ends they had run up against had done more than enough to paint the BAU as incompetent.

The woman cocked her head. "Of course it is." She agreed. "It just seems there are possibilities that aren't being explored."

"We're doing everything we can with the information provided." Spencer snapped, setting his jaw.

"I'm not saying you aren't -" She began defensively.

"You're clearly smart, but you're ashamed of that fact." Spencer said quickly, annoyed by the press and the opinions of strangers and the constant feeling that he needed to prove the validity of his work. "You dye your hair pin to feel more accessible - you actually want people to pay more attention to your looks than your intelligence. Maybe your shame comes from not having achieved what everyone expected from you, but maybe it's because even though you know you're smart, you're also afraid of failure. So you stay in this job because it's safe and because if you tried to go into profiling you might fail."

A stunned silence filled the shop. Spencer regretted the words before the last syllable cleared his lips, but stood stony faced anyway.

"Wow." The woman said stiffly. She tapped a finger on the counter, staring at him with a narrow gaze. "Okay..." she said at length. "That book has been available for months, but you asked where I bought it, which could mean you just like to support local businesses, but I don't think so. No, you've got a fear of technology. I'm not talking a preference, I mean a real aversion. I mean, look at that bag - it doesn't have a laptop in it, which means what?"

She shrugged. "It's got files in it, maybe? Probably a planner. Which means you aren't using a computer or tablet or smartphone or any of the million other ways people of this century streamline data intake and organization. You probably have a computer, but it's just for work, isn't it? Same story with your phone, which, if I had a guess, is at least a few years old, and unlike your colleagues or friends or anyone else on the planet, it has no personal pictures on it. And then tehre's your gun. I mean really, is there anything screams "technologically terrified" louder than a revolver? ...Well, maybe a musket."

She fixed him with a critical glare. "By the way, the reason you don't remember my name is because you never asked it."

Spencer flushed, but she wasn't finished.

"And just so we're clear, I dye my hair this color because I happen to like it and I enjoy the luxury of a job that allows me to do so. The fact that you equate one's hair color with with percieved intelligence or capability tells me you aren't afforded that same luxury, and probably never were. As for the job, my dad owns the shop. He opened it when he retired from the police force, where he was a detective for 20 years. I started working here when he had a heart attack and needed extra help. And I am smart. Damn smart. And though you're right, and I am afraid of failure, it only makes me work harder, and I am very, _very_ good at what I do."

She took a breath, straightening and lightly entering numbers into the cash register. "Will that be all?"

Spencer looked at his shoes, collecting his thoughts. "I'm sorry for what I said." He apologized earnestly. "It was out of line."

"Yes, it was." She agreed flatly.

" _I_ was out of line." Spencer said. "Completely." He swallowed. "I'm not usually like this, I promise."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"...What _is_ your name?" The doctor ventured.

The woman cocked her head, watching him intently, as though trying to figure out his angle.

"Iris." She said at last.

He chanced a small smile, nodding. "It suits you."

He rocked back on his heels, debating his next move before extending his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Iris." He offered sincerely. "Truce?"

The corner of her lips flickered up. She reached out, taking his hand. "Truce." She agreed.

"Truth be told, it's been a tough case." He confided. "We don't have a lot to go on."

Iris exhaled thoughtfully.

"Tell you what," she began. "We close in five minutes. My apartment's upstairs, and you look like hell. Why don't you stick around, I'll make you a cup of tea, and we can try this again."

The lanky doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Tea sounds great."


	3. Chapter 3

_Soft lips pressed his own. The weight of another against his chest made his breathing quick and heavy. His hands gripped the soft, supple skin of her thigh, raked the elegant arch of her back, made fists of tousled locks of rose quartz hair. His groin ached tightly. He burned against her and she fed his flame_

* * *

Spencer woke with a start. He sat in a leather chair, tightly gripping the throw pillow in his lap. For a fraction of an instant, he didn't know where he was. It came back to him in a rush as he examined the living space around him.

* * *

 _"Nice place." Spencer remarked when Iris opened the door at teh top of the stairs._

 _"Thanks." She said. "I love it. Take a seat. I'll put the water on."_

 _The apartmend was open and airy, with painted white brick walls and sturdy wood floors. In front of him and extending slightly to his left, was a small but comfortable living room, with a leather chair and loveseat and tall windows overlooking the street. A partition wall separated the otherwise open space, and just around it on the other side, Spencer caught a glimpse of the edge of a bed. The door leading back downstairs formed another partition. To the left, opposite the living room and where Iris had gone was a tidy and efficient kitchenette with a bar counter. Spencer closed the rood, peeking to the other side of the apartment. Opposite the bed was a sparse office setup and a door leading, he guessed, to the bathroom._

 _Spencer grabbed a throw pillow from off the leather chair and settled in. In the kitchen, Iris hummed quietly to herself as she filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove._

 _The doctor rested the back of his head against the cool chocolate colored leather and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Iris fishing mugs from the cupboard._

* * *

"Morning."

Spencer jumped as Iris rounded the corner from the bedroom and headed to the kitchenette.

"Morning?" He asked early-eyed, looking at his watch. "I was here all night?"

"You were out before the water boiled." Iris scoffed, scooping coffee beans into a grinder. "I thought about waking you, but you looked like hell. God," she laughed "you must have been exhausted to pass out there all night."

"I haven't slept well lately." Spencer looked down at his hands on the pillow, consciously trying to avoid looking at her.

"Clearly." She turned, looking at him from across the rooms. "Coffee?"

"Uh... sure." He said, looking up so as not to be impolite.

She wore an easy, comfortable t-shirt dress that fell to just at the fingertips in the front and slightly lower in the back. A casual pair of buff colored heels made her legs look longer. Spencer tried not to watch the way the hem of the dress lightly skimmed against her legs, lifting slightly as she reached for a mug. His dream flashed through his mind, so vividly he flushed and felt as though he should apologize. He cleared his throat.

"You, uh... you could have woken me." He assured her, standing.

She shrugged. "Yeah. But honestly, what's it matter to me if a stranger crashes on my chair for a night?"

Her tone and the look she shot him made it impossible to tell if she was joking or not.

"I'm sorry." He offered, crossing the room and taking the mug she held out to him.

"Don't be." She shook her head as he took a seat at one of the counter stools.

The coffee was rich and dark and the smell helped to clear the doctor's head.

"I've been thinking," Iris began, crossing her ankles and leaning against the counter near the coffee maker, "about the Doe case."

"I really can't talk about it." Spencer reiterated.

"That's fine, then I'll talk." She replied. "And then, I don't know, maybe you can think out loud, and I can just... you know, overhear it."

Spencer's heart stopped and he paled. His tendency to talk in his sleep had often made the flights back home embarrassing. He shot her a cautious look, trying to find subtext in her comment, but she merely stared blankly at the space in front of her, lost in thought as she held the coffee cup against her lips.

"Anyway, I've been thinking - all these Does... how do so many people live off the grid like that?"

"It's not that difficult." Spencer said blandly.

"No, not if you're just talking fingerprinting, or driver's licenses." Iris agreed. "But for these people to be taken and not be reported missing?"

"We've had a handful of missing persons leads," He said, knowing he was treading a fine line. "but family always gave a negative ID."

"Exactly." Iris nodded.

Spencer stared at her, confused by the unexpected answer.

"These are people who won't be missed." She said. "They're... estranged, probably? But more than that, they have _no_ identification footprint."

Spencer sat, silently following her train of thought and turning it over in his mind.

"I mean, social media." She continued. "No photos, no posts. No friends of friends. Literally, nothing."

"Right." Spencer nodded. "I told you last night, there's not much to go on."

"Yeah, but _why?_ " The pink-haired woman insisted. "I mean, it might be your normal, but what kinds of people live their lives with no footprint at all? Even if you're not online, your friends are, you still end up there somewhere."

The question triggered a thought and the agent stood abruptly.

"I've got to go." He said, leaving the coffee mostly untouched. "Thanks for - " he gestured lamely around him. "Thanks."

"Sure." She said simply as he opened the door to leave. "Hey, instead of turning right at the bottom of the stairs, just go straight." she called after him "It'll take you to the alley instead of the office."

Spencer obeyed, exiting the shop into an alley. He reached for his phone as he walked toward the street.

"Hey, Hotch, it's Reid." He hurried, wanting to change clothes before going to the office in order to avoid questions. "I've got an idea about the Doe case."


	4. Chapter 4

"Amish?" J.J. frowned skeptically.

"Yeah, yeah." Spencer nodded enthusiastically. "Or isolated communes - anywhere that might discourage interaction with the outside world or would actively alienate anyone who would defect or try to leave the community." He looked around the table to the others. "Think about it, 78% of people on the planet have some form of social media, and those that don't still end up on it by proxy."

"I take pictures of you and put them on my facebook page." J.J. postulated.

"Right." Spencer nodded. "Our victims were entirely isolated from the modern world."

"Well, anyone who'd leave an insular community like that would be completely disenfranchised." Rossi reasoned. "They'd be easy targets."

"We've been so busy trying to find some trace of our victims," Reid said "we never stopped to profile the kind of person who wouldn't leave one."

"It's got potential." Hotch admitted thoughtfully, his arms crossed. "Let's look at communities near where the bodies were found. See if we can find anything. Good work, Reid."

"Thanks." Reid nodded as the team dispersed, heading back to their desks.

* * *

The young agent sat in the conference room, ankle balanced on opposite knee, idly fiddling with the pencil in his hand. Maps covered the table, detailing the locations where the bodies were found and known insular groups in the surrounding area. Reid's eyes stared at the papers without seeing. Instead, the sound of Iris humming floated through his thoughts and his skin prickled as he relived the sensations in his dream, both impossibly ethereal and deeply intense. Reid envisioned Iris, standing in the kitchen drinking coffee, the grey light of morning peacefully bathing the apartment. He replayed their conversation.

"Reid."

The agent jumped, shaken from his thoughts by Rossi's entrance.

"Yeah." His voice cracked dryly and he coughed. "Yeah." He tried again.

"Whaddaya got?" Rossi closed the door behind himself and looked at the maps.

Spencer sat up straight, using the pencil to indicate areas surrounding crime scenes.

"Looks like we have possible groups within reasonable distances of all the body sites. Some with overlap." He said. "More than that, if our questioning turns up anything, we might be able to use the widened area to build a workable geographic profile."

"Well, we've got the local authorities out asking around now." Rossi said, examining the maps over the young doctor's shoulder. "Fingers crossed."

A moment of silence past between them.

"This may be a solid lead." Rossi sounded more than his usual level of impressed. "What made you think of it?"

Reid shook his head slowly.

"Just... finally got a good night's sleep." He said as nonchalantly as possible.

"That's a victory in itself." Rossi said wryly.

"Yeah." Reid breathed in agreement.

* * *

The light behind the register was on, despite the lateness of the hour. Spencer pounded hard on the locked door of Cloak and Dagger, chewing his bottom lip. A shadow moved across the wall and Iris appeared from the direction of the office.

She gave Spencer a strange look as she turned the lock and opened the door.

"Dr. Reid -" She began in curious surprise.

"I... I think after last night we're on to first names now." He said sheepishly. "Fitting, seeing as I still don't know your last name."

The corners of her lips flitted up.

"Layne." She told him. "Okay, _Spencer_ , what are you doing here?"

"We got a break." He confided. "Can I come in?"


	5. Chapter 5

"I thought you couldn't talk about this with me." Iris said, leading the way through the shop to the back of the office, where the door led to the staircase to her apartment.

"I'm not." He replied dryly. "I'm just thinking out loud... you might overhear me."

Iris shot him a cheeky look over her shoulder as she unlocked her apartment and pushed open the door.

"One of the local forces got a positive ID on one of the Jane Does. She was a member of a local religious sect that believes in isolation."

"Mm." Iris raised her eyebrows interestedly "Amish?"

"No." Spencer said "But fundamentally opposed to... well, to connections outside their community."

"So she was never reported missing..." Iris mused, frowning.

"Not that simple. She was actually disowned by the community when she expressed an interest in leaving."

"Well there you go." She said, piecing bits together "Fits the markers for a perfect victim. She's got nothing, will trust anyone, and nobody will come looking for her."

"It's more that we had before." Spencer admitted.

"So I ask you again," Iris said as she pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and a corkscrew from the drawer. "If you've got all this information, why are you here?"

"It's going to take a while for our analyst to get more information on our victim and we can't prove a pattern until we hear back from more of our local sources." He told her. "We don't have much to move on."

Iris nodded in understanding before raising the bottle questioningly toward Spencer. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze, instead moving into the living room while Iris poured herself a glass. She corked the bottle and placed it back in the fridge.

"Okay, so" She joined him in the living room, settling into the love seat while he claimed a seat in the chair. "I grew up in a sequestered commune. It's the only community I've ever known. Now, suddenly, I have no home, I have no friends, no family... where do I go?" She looked to Spencer intently, sipping from her glass.

"Hm." Spencer stared at the floor, thinking. "Shelters, for one."

"Maybe." Iris sounded unconvinced. "If I can find one... if I know what one is."

"Churches." Spencer blurted in a flash of inspiration.

"It would make sense if we're assuming some form of religious background in the victims. Most appropriate some form of easily recognizable iconography." She reasoned. "Lots of churches have programs to help the local homeless."

"It would answer the question of how the killer knew their situation." Spencer continued. "A lot of churches have connections to housing, work placement programs..."

"Most churches work with programs affiliated specifically with their denomination - there's surprisingly little overlap." Iris added "The bodies crossed state lines. You'll be looking for at least two churches in fellowship with each other. There's a good chance you'll find another connection between your Does."

She took a sip of wine, working through all the pieces in her mind.

"Why are you working in a book store?" Spencer asked, almost to himself, as he stared at the floor.

"I already told you why." She said, lowering the glass. She shifted in the seat, resting her elbow against the back, her head propped against the back of her hand and drawing her knee up slightly so she could better face her guest. "Some people really are that simple."

"I don't think you're one of them." He replied.

She arched an eyebrow.

"Neither are you, Spencer Reid." She assured him, downing the last swallow of wine in her glass. "Now tell me," she watched him, poker-faced. "Why won't you look at me tonight?"

Spencer nearly choked on his breath.

"Um," He stammered, raising his eyes. He watched her study him. "I, uh-" His face felt hot and his thoughts faltered along the graceful line of her neck where it met her clavicle.

A phone rang. He felt a rush of immense relief as he reached into his pocket.

"Reid." He answered the call "Yeah, Garcia, what have you got?"

Iris waited patiently nearby, gauging the changes and microchanges in his expression as he listened to whatever the person on the other line told him.

"Thanks, Garcia." He said "I'll be there soon."

He ended the call, looking troubled.

"What?" Iris asked at last.

"We got an ID on one of our John Does." He said, his features still dark.

"And?" She arched an eyebrow

"Turns out both of the victims had taken out loans." He sounded confused, unsure what to do with the information.

"Loans?" Iris repeated.

"Different banks..." Spencer nodded. "Which means they had to have been employed..."

"Or..." Iris trailed off, searching her memory for something familiar.

"What?" Spencer asked.

Without a word, Iris stood, crossing to the door of the apartment and hurrying down the stairs to the book shop. Spencer followed, keeping pace with her as she made a sharp line for one of the cramped aisles.

"There was a case in Hong Kong." She said as she scanned titles "A woman disappeared without a trace. Poof, just gone; went for lunch and never came back. Turns out she had been killed and her signature forged to transfer money." She found the title she was looking for and pulled it out, leafing through pages.

"Okay..." Spencer listened.

"There was a related case." Iris said, trying hard to remember details long-since reviewed. "Maybe in China, also? I can't remember, I'm trying to find it. A bunch of people were kidnapped and ultimately killed - the killer used their personal information to transfer money, apply for loans, that sort of thing."

"It's identity theft." The revelation broke upon Spencer. "They're picking people with clean records to make it harder to trace and extend the scheme."

"They keep them around as long as possible - probably milk information from them..." Iris looked up "It's why the bodies are starved. The killers aren't interested in the act of killing; they die from neglect."

"I gotta go." His heart raced, his face brightened, the pieces falling together with dizzying speed. "We can find these guys."

"Yeah, go." Iris replied with equal excitement.

"Thank you." He said hurriedly.

"Spencer," She caught his elbow as he started to turn away. He spun. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and the next thing he knew her lips crashed against his, soft and warm and honey-sweet, pressed firmly and fervently to his for an instant. Iris pulled away after only a moment.

"Good luck." She said smiling as casually as though a hurried, ardent kiss was how she said goodbye to all her acquaintances.

The stunned doctor stood dazed and speechless. He stared at her blankly.

"Go!" She reminded him, shooting a glance in the direction of the door and stifling a laugh as she gave him a small push.

"Yeah." Spencer agreed vaguely, turning and heading toward the shop's main exit.

"That one's locked!" Iris called after him, grinning. "Through the office."

Silently and awkwardly, Spencer changed direction.


	6. Chapter 6

"Okay," Reid stood at the conference table, the rest of the team around him, all looking intently at the maps laid out before them.

"We've got a lot of information here," he said, "where the victims were from, where they were found, the banks their bans were through, and likely support resources they might have used; churches, shelters, taht sort of thing." He motioned to the maps as he spoke. "Now, when you look at all of these factors individually, there's not a lot they can tell us. But, when you overlay them, one on top of the other, there are three distinct areas of overlap."

"We assume it's more than one unsub and we know our victims are kept somewhere." Rossi said, "So these could be areas close to the hunting grounds or where they're being kept."

"They've been careful so far. They wouldn't leave a body near their hideout unless they had to." Hotch examined the map. "Where were the fewest number of victims found?"

"Uh, that would be here." Reid circled a wide area on the map.

"Okay..." Hotch replied "We've got a lot of work to do to confirm the identity theft angle, so let's get on it. I'll coordinate with the guys over in white collar crimes and have Garcia get us anything we can use. Meanwhile I want us all looking in to possible connections these places might have with each other."

The team dispersed, and Reid returned to his desk, the glory of the moment rolling over into a renewed will to continue. It was like the solution to an equation leaping out at you after days of staring at it. His lips still tingled with the pressure of Iris' kiss against them. He smiled to himself and set to work.

 **\- 3 Days Later -**

Iris stood in the bathroom of her apartment, blinking furiously as the sting of her contact lenses faded. A carefully selected outfit hung over the back of her desk chair, ready to be put on for a night out.

The buzzer indicating someone in the alley waiting to be let in sounded. Iris frowned, crossing the apartment and pressing the intercom button.

"Yeah?" She asked the plastic speaker cover.

"It's Spencer." The doctor's voice crackled back.

Iris looked down at her black satin lounge shorts and slouching Warren Zevon tank top.

"Come on up." She said finally, pressing a button to unlock the door before quickly ducking into her bedroom and grabbing an oversized flannel shirt. She pulled it on as a knock echoed from the apartment door.

Iris turned the knob. Spencer stood in the doorway, a strange expression on his face.

"Hi." Iris said.

Spencer said nothing.

"I saw you closed the case." She said. "It's been all over the news -"

She was silenced when, with one swift motion in an act of blind bravery Spencer stepped forward, catching her up tightly and locking his lips to hers. His hands gripping her ribs, his lips on hers, took her breath. She moaned into his kiss, slamming the door behind him as she pulled him to the bedroom. He was only too happy to comply, his hands moving frantically under her clothes and over her skin.

* * *

Spencer lay awake, sweaty and breathless on the mattress, Iris in a similar state next to him.

"Wow." He breathed. Iris laughed exhaustedly.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She replied dryly.

Spencer said nothing. He was a person without great experience; he got the distinct impression Iris was not.

"I, uh, I feel I should tell you," he pushed a mop of sweat-soaked hair off his forehead.

"Oh, God, you're married." Iris guessed blackly.

"What? No!" Spencer sounded horrified.

"You have a girlfriend." She guessed again.

"No, no - " He shook his head.

"Well, you're not gay." Iris joked.

"No." Spencer chuckled. "I just - I don't do this... I mean... I just... I don't-"

"Have casual sex?" She finished matter-of-factly. "Well, don't worry. I won't get all crazy on you."

Spencer rolled, pinning her to the mattress, not ready for anything more, but wanting to feel her skin pressed to his. He could feel her heartbeat keeping time with his. He buried his face against the crook of her neck.

"I could lose my job if I told my colleagues you helped with this case." He muttered.

"Then don't." Iris replied simply as she stared at the ceiling, her fingers twisting idly through his hair.

Spencer lifted himself slightly, looking at her as though she were a puzzle.

"I don't like complications." She explained, as though it were the easiest thing in the world to understand. He rolled off her and onto his back once again. She raised herself onto her elbow, facing him.

"Look, would you say you have a simple life?" She asked.

"No." Spencer shook his head. "No, it's -"

"It's complicated." Iris finished. She leaned against him. "Was this complicated?"

He turned his head, looking into her green eyes as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

"No." He half smiled.

"So let's keep it that way."

Iris sat up and stretched. Spencer watched the muscles of her bare back tighten and relax. She ruffled a hand through her pink hair as she looked around for the flannel shirt that had been lost somewhere in the chaos.

"Are you hungry?" He said at last. "I want to take you out."

Iris turned to face him as she buttoned the shirt, which skimmed just along her thighs "Like this?" She teased.

"Sure." He grinned. "If you want. Do you like Thai?"

"Love it." The woman replied. "But I'm allergic to peanuts, which is kind of prohibitive." She walked toward the bathroom, grabbing the outfit that had been neglected from the back of the desk chair. "There's an Indian place down the street."

"Sounds great."

"I'll be ready in a minute." She disappeared into the bathroom.

Spencer laced his hands behind his head as he lay on the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

There was something to be said for an uncomplicated life.


	7. Chapter 7

"So you literally spend an entire evening just saying yes to everything?" Spencer clarified.

"Yes." Iris nodded. "Caveat: I reserve the right to say no if there is a reasonable chance saying yes could end in me dying. Or breaking the law." She bounced her head back and forth "Well... a big law." She grinned cheekily at him.

"It's great." She insisted. "I've... met people I never would have met, been places I never would have gone - I can tell you now that if you ever need to be stuck in an airport overnight, Detroit's the one to be in."

Spencer chuckled. Indian music played softly in the dimly lit restaurant. Candles lined the walls illuminating brightly colored murals of women performing traditional dances.

"You should try it." Iris reached for a piece of naan from the basket at the center of the table.

"This, I think," he motioned between them as he took a drink of water "this is impulsive enough. I still can't believe..." he trailed off.

"I'm not complaining." Iris shrugged, a knowing smile creeping across her face.

He cleared his throat. "Me neither, I just - " Spencer reached for the bread "It's so unlike me."

He took a bite, chewing in silence before a thought struck him.

"I was going to ask," he swallowed. "Where'd you go to grad school?"

"Maryland." She replied.

Spencer narrowed his eyes, staring at her thoughtfully, carefully scanning the catalogue in his memory of classes he'd lectured in.

"What?" She smiled suspiciously. He said nothing.

He disregarded the hair color. It was almost certainly different then. Without the glasses, he could get a better sense of her facial proportions.

"I remember you." He said at last.

"You do not." She challenged disbelievingly. "The lecture, okay, I'll buy. But there's no way you remember me."

"Your hair was darker." He said. "Brown. You wore it long, and, uh... curly."

Her eyes widened in amazement.

"I'm impressed." She admitted.

"You," he chuckled "you questioned the validity of the Occam's Razor approach to investigation. You postulated it prematurely narrowed a suspect pool and caused bias in the investigative process."

She blushed. "Yeah, that sounds right."

"It was a valid concern." He assured. "Chasing an assumption because it's simple can stall a case." He looked at her seriously. "It's the difference between a sadist and an identity thief."

She looked away, a mix of pride and embarrassment on her face.

"Thank you. For your help." He voice soft and sincere. "I mean that."

"Don't mention it." She said.

The waiter placed the check on the table, and both reached for it.

"Let me." Spencer insisted.

"You don't have to -" Iris began awkwardly.

"I don't have to what?"

"Look, you shouldn't feel obligated just because -" She fixed him with a pointed look. "It's 'no purchase necessary."

"I want to." He told her seriously, not taking his hand from the black case. His eyes met hers. "You won't die, and you won't break any laws, big or otherwise, by letting me pay."

He paused. Her resolve faltered.

"Say yes."

Reluctantly, she let go, waiting patiently as he settled up.

The street outside the restaurant glowed with the splendor of a city at night. Far from the hub, businesses still spilled their light through store fronts, or illuminated the sidewalks under their red or green neon signs.

"Thanks for dinner." Iris said as they walked back down the street toward her apartment.

"No, thank you." Spencer replied. "Maybe next time I could see you in daylight."

"Ooh," Iris sucked air through her teeth in exaggerated doubt. "Yeah, I don't know if daylight works for me. See, I'm a vampire."

"Really?" The doctor played along in mock surprise and disappointment. "See, because I'm a werewolf, so my free nights are limited."

Iris chuckled, looking down at the street.

"Yeah, okay." She said, a resignation in her voice. "Look... I've been here before... I just... I don't want you to feel like... I don't know, like you have to make something of it, you know?

Spencer wasn't sure he did know. He was silent as they rounded the corner into the alley.

"I mean... if it was just... one of those things..." she continued. "A one-time thing... You don't have to pretend. I'd understand."

They stopped at the door and she turned to face him. He looked down at her, contemplating her words and reading her demeanor.

"Do... do you want it to be a one-time thing?" He asked.

"Do you?" She countered.

"I don't want this to be the last time I see you." He said, slipping an arm around her waist.

"That's not the same thing." She replied, edging closer to him.

"Then, no" Spencer admitted. "I don't want it to be a one-time thing."

A sideways smile quirked up the corner of her mouth. She reached up, drawing his mouth to hers in a kiss that made his heart race.

"I'm not looking for anything serious." She warned, her own pulse quickening.

"Keep it uncomplicated." He agreed, only half in his right mind. He tightened his grip. Her arms laced around his shoulders.

"I have an idea." She purred. "Say yes."


End file.
